DE REVES. We poets personify abstract things, and not poets only but sculptors and painters too. All the great things of the world are those abstract things. PRATTLE. But what I mean is they're not really there, like you or me. DE REVES. To us these things are more real than men, they outlive generations, they watch the passing of Kingdoms: we go by them like dust; they are still here, unmoved, unsmiling. PRATTLE. But, but, you can't think that you could _see_ Fame, you don't expect to _see_ it. DE REVES. Not to me. Never to me. She of the golden trumpet and Greek dress will never appear to me.... We all have our dreams. PRATTLE. I say--what have you been doing all day? DE REVES. I? Oh, only writing a sonnet. PRATTLE. Is it a long one? DE REVES. Not very. PRATTLE. About how long is it? DE REVES. About fourteen lines. PRATTLE (_impressively_). I tell you what it is. DE REVES. Yes? PRATTLE. I tell you what. You've been overworking yourself. I once got like that on board the Sandhurst, working for the passing-out exam. I got so bad that I could have seen anything. DE REVES. Seen anything? PRATTLE. Lord, yes: horned pigs, snakes with wings, anything, one of your winged horses even. They gave me some stuff called bromide for it. You take a rest. DE REVES. But my dear fellow, you don't understand at all. I merely said that abstract things are to a poet as near and real and visible as one of your bookmakers or barmaids. PRATTLE. I know. You take a rest. DE REVES. Well, perhaps I will. I'd come with you to that musical comedy you're going to see, only I'm a bit tired after writing this; it's a tedious job. I'll come another night. PRATTLE. How do you know I'm going to see a musical comedy? DE REVES. Well, where would you go? _Hamlet's_ on at the Lord Chamberlain's. You're not going there. PBATTLE. Do I look like it? DE REVES. No. PRATTLE. Well, you're quite right. I'm going to see "The Girl from Bedlam." So long. I must push off now. It's getting late. You take a rest. Don't add another line to that sonnet; fourteen's quite enough. You take a rest. Don't have any dinner to-night, just rest. I was like that once myself. So long. DE REVES. So long. (_Exit_ PRATTLE. DE REVES _returns to his table and sits down._) Good old Dick. He's the same as ever. Lord, how time passes. (_He takes his pen and his sonnet and makes a few alterations._) Well, that's finished. I can't do any more to it. (_He rises and goes to the screen; he draws back part of it and goes up to the altar. He is about to place his sonnet reverently at the foot of the altar amongst his other verses._) No, I will not put it there. This one is worthy of the altar. (_He places the sonnet upon the altar itself._) If that sonnet does not give me Fame, nothing that I have done before will give it to me, nothing that I ever will do.